


Virus

by AngelsBeast



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, HYDRA is a criminal organisation, M/M, SHIELD is something like he Secret Service, Villain Bucky Barnes, WIP, agent steve rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11491662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsBeast/pseuds/AngelsBeast
Summary: As Steve confronts the new head of HYDRA, he didn't expect a familiar face."Bucky?""Hi, Stevie."This is a Work In Progress.I don't own the caracters.The plot is from my own mind, tough.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp!  
> Let's do this.
> 
> The rating WILL GO UP. Later on.  
> Now.  
> The Prologue.
> 
> I wrote this to [Dark Ambient Music - Dark Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIO6eIAvuhQ).  
> Listen to it while reading the Prologue! It sets the atmosphere I had in mind so well! ^^

Heavily breathing, James stands in the dark office, a combat knife clutched tightly in his left fist.

Still warm blood drips off the gleaming blade, a dull _thud – thud – thud_ on the luxurious dark carpet on the floor.

After some seconds, his posture straightens somewhat, his shoulders square.

He flips the knife in an absent-minded routine and wipes it at his sleeve before hiding it somewhere at his person in a blur of nearly invisible motion.

He walks around the massive glass table, turning his back to the glass front, ignoring the breathtaking view of New York at night, and pushes the body off the blood smeared surface, uncaring, like someone swatting at an annoying insect.

It lands on the floor with a muffled heavy sound that  lights a spark of satisfaction  in James. 

He presses the call button on the table the body obscured before.

“Send for Romanova.”

“Yes, sir.” comes the immediate and crisp reply through the small speaker and James takes a step back, eyes flitting over the shadowed room.

His gaze though is soon  drawn to the stormy grey clouds outside of the office  of the skyscraper, angrily swirling and coiling in the nightly sky. Far back occasional lightning brightens the horizon, painting bizarrely ragged  and dancing shapes for mere seconds into the clouds, as if some gigantic monster is about to break out of them and swallow the city as a whole.

The tension in the air seems touchable, even from inside the confined office.

Its a breathtaking image nature paints here, James allows himself to think, as he continues observing the storm uncoil, readying to do its worst to the nightly city below.

The sound of a soft but sure knock pulls him out of his staring and he turns as the door opens.

The light from the hall beyond illuminates the shape of a woman,  small but curvy. Her short and curly red hair glows in the lights like a flame and surround her shadowed face like a halo of fire.

James can’t really make out her eyes  against the light but practically feels the intense stare zeroing on his silhouette in front of the stormy skyline.

After some seconds she steps into the room and closes the door behind her without letting him out of her sight.

“James.” Her gaze leaves him for only a second, giving her time to take in the room where it lands on the corpse besides the table before it snaps back to him.

She says nothing, just stares at him. He can by now make out some parts of her face, especially her eyes as the little bit of light the weather and the city provides catches in them.

He knows her silence isn’t a signal of mistrust or even disgust.  Or fear.

No, her silence is an offering.

For listening. And help, if he needs it.

He turns back to the view, leaving his back unprotected.

All his instincts would normally scream at him how stupid that was, leaving an opening like that, especially to someone as capable as her.

But that’s the point. It’s  _her._

His eyes stare unfocused through the glass as the first fat dollops of rain hit the window.

A sigh drips from his lips.

After more moments of patient silence, he opens his mouth. “I found them.”

“Who?”, comes her calm reply, even if he’s quite sure she suspects what he’s talking about.

“The ones responsible.”

There is only silence behind him as the rain falls heavier and heavier, pressing against the thick glass.

“What will you do now.”

He lets out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

“I’ll kill them.” He lets his head fall back to look at the clouds above. “I’ll shatter them, Natalia. And I won’t stop till they’re destroyed. _All_ of them.” James takes a slightly shaky breath and turns his head a little over his shoulder without  really turning away from the glass front.

“Will you help me?”

He can see her lips twitch upwards in the dim light. “You know I will.” She walks around the table towards him and comes to a stop next to him, facing the storm outside.

It illuminates her features and makes her look unreal, otherworldly even, as the lightning catches in her green eyes, making them glow for a split second.

She redirects her eyes at him and their gazes lock.

He can see her determination to help him, to avenge at his side.

And he’s once more overcome by his deep love and adoration for her.

They’ve been like siblings since they first met over a decade ago, inseparable, trusting to have each others backs. What is quite a rare relationship in their environment.

“So tell me, James. What are you planning?”, she demands with a slight smirk.

James hesitates and stares back out the window. “I’ll have to ask much, Natalia...”

Oh, he knows she can handle herself, no doubt. She wouldn’t fail, wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t even mind, no matter the cost.

But even so. Even so, he wanted to give her a chance of backing out. This will get bloody, brutal, disgusting and all kinds of complicated.

He knows she won’t take the offering of a clean way out, though.

And true to his suspicion, a small strong hand closes around his biceps and forces him to turn towards her. “James. What do I do.”

A small smile creeps onto his face.

He can always count on her.

The storm reaches it s crescendo as he reveals his plan.

“First, you’ll go rogue.”

 

 


	2. Early Morning Tea

 Steve’s upper body lays sprawled out on his work desk.

No, it’s not detached, thank you.

His lower half is still firmly attached and sits on his ridiculously big office chair, ankles hooked around the rolls.

He just lays there, the Himalaya in paperwork cushioning his cheek, closing his dry and tired eyes against the golden evening sun shining directly into his face from a low angle.

He hears soft steps approaching through the half open door followed by two sharp knocks, but he doesn’t look up. He knows exactly who it is.

“Steve, I know you like your job, but slavering on your paperwork? Don’t you think that takes things a little bit too far?”

Steve needs a second to scrape all his energy together to slowly form a fist with his limp left hand, only extending the middle finger, flipping her off.

Her laugh rigs through the room, deep and smoky. “Try me, Rogers.”

Steve only manages a low incomprehensible grumble as answer. Even he has no idea what words that were meant to be.

The soft steps come closer and halt in front of the overflowing desk. “Come on now, Steve.” She says with an audible grin in her voice, “Fury called in a meeting.”

“Nooooooo…”, Steve wails softly, attempting to bury his face in the paperwork, hoping to get swallowed by it as a whole. He knows his behaviour is ridiculous, but he’s just so fucking _tired_.

And this is Natasha. She’s seen him after his wife Peggy died and he practically drowned in his own snot and tears, not to mention the drunkapades – and the one night stands he regretted immediately afterwards – that followed.

He hears her jacket moving and barely flinches when a small hand pats his blond head.

“Now now, Cap,” she jokingly chides with the smirk audible in her voice. Her fingers slide down to his ear and start scratching at his hairline.

God, if she wasn’t like a sister to him he’d have put a ring on her years ago.

“Mhhhhh...”, he hums contently, disappointed for a second that he isn’t actually able to purr. Because he’d like to. Right now.

“And there you wonder why people compare you to a puppy.” cuts Natasha’s amused tone through his happy silence, startling him back from the sleep he was slowly sliding into. “Come on now, Cap.”

She pulls her hand back, patting his head pointedly this time before she steps back.

Steve releases a heavy sigh and slowly forces his muscles to work, sitting upright.

One of the papers that laid on the top is still stuck to his face. He blinks and removes it with a frown. It’s one of the latest mission reports about a threatened bombing in New Jersey that was only a bluff. With another sigh he puts it back on the right stack of paper and stands up, stretching a little to pop his spine. He groans in relief as the dull sounds vibrate through his body.

“That was pornographic.” Natasha states drily and blinks innocently at Steve’s dark glare that he throws at her.

“You’ve got nothing to criticise, Miss Skin-tight Leather Suit.” He jibes with a deadpan as they exit his office and head for the elevator.

“Who says I was criticising?” she replies with a sharp smirk and throws her fiery red shoulder-length hair back, rising an eyebrow mockingly.

As they wait in front of the elevator Steve opens his mouth but somebody interrupts him before he can actually speak.

“Criticising what?” a warm and low voice pipes up.

“Hi Sam.” Natasha chirps. “Steve is offended because I supposedly criticised his obscenely erotic moan.” She tells with a smirk and an evil glint in her eyes that the blond is all too familiar with.

“Aww, nah man!” Sam exclaims and wrinkles his nose in half faked disgust but with amusement in his eyes. Sam knows Steve’s and Natasha’s relationship is completely platonic and is well aware that their teasing is often… provocative, of a sort. So he plays the Disgusted Straight FellaTM.

“It was a _groan_ , Nat! And not erotic in any way!” Steve hisses and enters the elevator, scowling at her teasing expression.

“Oh yeah? Prove it, Rogers.”

“I wont start moaning in the elevator!” he declares horrified, ignoring Sam’s amused glance as he joins them and presses the right button to get them all to the meeting.

Nat leans against the mirror as the doors close and rises an eyebrow. “So it _was_ a moan?”

Sam laughs. “Man, you walked right into that one.”

Steve feels the urge to groan but holds it back, and judging from Nat’s amused expression she knows exactly what he wants to do, so he opts to bang the back of his head against the moving car of the elevator.

“I hate you, Nat. I’m too fucking tired for this.”

“Thank God, because it would be really awkward if the doors opened and revealed you moaning in our company.” Sam quips smiling and shakes his head.

“I wasn’t moaning!” Steve insists just as the doors open to a big conference room with a huge table in the middle, on top which a blond man, the only person in the room, is perched on.

“Who’s moaning?” Clint asks from where he sits on the wood of the big polished table and Steve nearly breaks into tears. “Fuck you.”, he simply states in the other man’s direction.

“Hey, what did I do?” Clint wants to know with an exaggerated offended pout but Steve ignores him and sinks into the nearest chair.

“Nah, don’t be offended. Steve’s just a big baby.” Natasha explains with a shrug, as if all of this wasn’t her fault. “He just insists that because of my catsuit I can’t criticise his erotic moan.”

“Isn’t it a little early for erotic moans, dear Cap?” Tony states when he enters through the side doors, not looking up from whatever he is fiddling with on his pad, and Steve lets his head drop on the table with a loud thunk that vibrates through his skull and makes his teeth arch. He can hear the traitorous redhead snicker behind him.

Okay, he wants to punch something.

But before he can follow the urge Fury’s heavy steps come through the door Tony just exited and everyone takes a seat, Clint hurriedly sliding from his perch on the table.

Steve sits up, a dull pain pulsing in his forehead that is probably decorated by a glowing red spot where it got closely acquainted with the surface of the desk.

“Agents.”, he states as he reached the head of the table. “Stark.” he adds after a short glance in Tony’s direction with his only eye.

“Well, that’s just petty.” Steve hears Tony mutter under his breath but everyone ignores him.

The mechanic and genius originally wanted to be an Agent but Fury didn’t sign his papers, even after he mastered the required tests after the fifth try.

Tony insisted that they need people “like him” with “brains and all that” in the field. But the director countered that those brains would be far more useful at the main labs and tinkering workshops instead of splattered on the street during field work. That argument shut Tony up for some seconds and he wordlessly left the room, taking over the lead in the tinkering section with a small revolution and a battle of wits with the leading scientists.

“As you noticed, the crime rate increased the last weeks, especially the organised crime.”

No fucking kidding, Steve thinks. He ran across New York for five weeks, chasing crime scene after crime scene. As Captain of his team, he had to visit every single one, write a report, read and control the others reports (even if he knew very well how good his team works and their reports are always perfect and spotless) and finally give them over to the archive. There were eleven scenes these last weeks, luckily three were minor and could be pushed towards the NYPD.

And eight scenes with at least three team members, including himself, à two to three sites of record? Plus the report of the forensics team?

Yeah.

“There is the heavy suspicion that all of those crimes were caused by an underground organisation.”

Well, that is interesting, Steve thinks. But wouldn’t be something new, not in their line of work. And Fury’s dark look made him sit up a little straighter. This is something big if even their director is concerned.

“The problem in this case,” the man continues seriously, “is that we got something quite interesting out of one of the survivors of today’s attack.”

Fury reaches for a remote laying in front of him and pressed a button.

The room darkens and a projector starts showing the tape of an interrogation behind the director.

It shows a delicate woman sitting in the ugly grey room, camera focused on her face. Dark Mascara was smudged around her eyes, she obviously cried.

“ _Did you see anything on one of the people that could possibly help find them? Like a scar or anything else conspicuous?”_ asked a woman’s voice from off camera. It sounds like Sharon, Steve thinks. That’s good, because she would have made sure that the woman was actually up for interrogation, not just pulling her into the room.

“ _I...um… I’m not sure? I don’t remember… Oh, wait… one of them? He had a, kind of… abstract tattoo? His sleeve ripped, so...”_

“ _Could you recognize it? Or even draw it?”_ Steve can picture the glint his blonde college must had in her eyes at that piece of information.

“ _Um, Yeah, I guess?”_

For some minutes, there is only the sound of pencil scratching on paper. Then, the woman frowns and holds the sheet up towards the camera after Sharon instructs her to do so.

First, it seems to consist out of vague shapes and intertwined lines, no real pattern in sight.

But then suddenly something clicks in Steve’s head and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

No. Oh no. Fuck. If this is what he thinks it is, and he is pretty sure, they’re fucked.

Fury stops the feed and pulls a sheet of paper out of his coat, laying it on the table. Then he turns it 180° and Steve’s heart sinks as he hears Natasha’s affirmative Russian curse. “Бляха-муха!“

If you look at the sheet head down its not consisting of weird shapes anymore. Granted, it looks kind of strange, like anything drawn overhead would look. But Steve admires the woman’s work for a second. The tattoo must surely burned itself inside her mind if she was able to draw it this close to perfect.

An abstract skull framed by curling and coiling tentacles glared at them.

HYDRA.

“Awww, shit, nawh.” Clint stated and voiced all their thoughts, slumping back on his chair.

Steve licked his lips. “But Sir, couldn’t it be a fake? A fan? Copycat? Or even only an ex member?”

Fury’s eye stares at him. “Well, let’s say I dearly hope so, Captain.”

“Fuck.” He just states and clenches his teeth painfully.

He can feel Natasha’s concerned looks on his skin but he refuses to acknowledge them. Instead he forces his to hard fists balled hands to slowly open. “Further procedure?” he forces out through his teeth.

“Agent Romanoff and Barton will use their networks to find out more. We can’t stay blind. Dig up everything you can. Stark, you’ll gather a team to search through the digital data that may help to find the latest terrorists. Especially the one with the tattoo. Permission to full access to all surveillance cameras, if anybody gives you shit or tries to hinder you, make use of our status in the Government.” Stark’s face is split by a gleeful, nearly creepy smile as he gets his orders from the director. “It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

“The rest of the team, namely Rogers and Wilson, will go through the recent files and also look at the HYDRA files of the past. Basically, do everything to find a trace of these bastards. I don’t care how small. We can’t risk them actually still being out there and not knowing.”

Sam and Steve nod in acceptance, even if they both internally cringe at the thought of the mountains of paperwork waiting for them.

Fury’s eye wanders over every one of them. “Meeting closed. I await reports by tomorrow evening. Dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

Steve lays on his bed, wide awake.

He stares at the ceiling.

God, he’s tired.

With a sigh he lifts his hand and rubs it hand over his face.

But he can’t sleep, that’s the problem. His mind just won’t shut up. Round and round his thoughts go, not stopping, not slowing down, keeping his tired body wide awake.

A glance at his bedside clock reveals that its three fifteen in the morning. God, in less that four hours he has to be at work.

Steve turns to his other side, closing his eyes, trying to force his thoughts to slow down, to calm his mind. But it won’t work, no, they seem to run faster, stronger, forcing his mind in one direction, then another, another, jumping over fluttering scraps of thoughts, ideas memories, projecting vivid images on the inside of his closed eyelids, repeating, running over, reviewing and it’s too hot, too hot, blanket heavy and suffocating and sticky and _hot_ -

He sits up abruptly.

Fuck. This is not gonna work.

Steve forces his exhausted body to kick off the blanket and stand up, getting out of the bed. With a sigh he directs his steps towards the kitchen of his apartment where he doesn’t switch on any of the lights, able to see enough with the brightness of the street lamps and the nightly glow of Brooklyn outside. The sickly white shine of the light bulb in the fridge illuminates the tile floor for a second as he opens it to extract a pack of milk. He stares at it for a second before putting it back, closing the door and aiming for one of the cupboards. Searching for a minute or two he discovers what he searched for: a pack of tea. It’s some kind of black tea, but Steve doesn’t care and fills water into the cooker, switching it on. He gets a cup and a pot of sugar, then pours the scalding hot liquid into it, directly on the tea bag.

Two spoonful of sugar follow, swirling and disappearing into the depths of the cup. After a couple of minutes he gets the tea bag out and throws it away.

Now Steve stands in front of the kitchen counter, staring into the liquid amber of the tea.

He jumps as his landline rings, ripping the empty calmness of his apartment apart sharply. Startled he retrieves it from its place next to the fridge and presses the green button. “Hello?” he croaks, voice rough. From sleep, he’s telling himself.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hi, Nat. It’s three in the morning.”

“I know, Rogers. And help me God, if I find out you’re still up because you’re buried in HYDRA files-”

“I’m not.”

A sigh can be heard through the phone and something squeaks. Probably Natasha’s favourite chair. He can picture her small frame, curled up on the old leather.

“Alright. But how are you?”

“I-” he pauses and stares at the steaming tea in front of him again and lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the counter top, face in the sweet smelling heat of the drink. “I’m… okay.”

“People that are okay aren’t up at three thirty in the morning, Steve.” Natasha’s soft and warm voice chides him gently. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

She knows. Of course she fucking does. And it’s also the reason why she called – she knows him too well. And she’s here. Ready to be there. To hold, to support. To _listen_.

Steve’s hand clenches around the receiver, making the plastic creak dangerously.

“Fuck.”, he mutters and runs his free hand through his hair. “I… I hate them so much, Nat.”

Natasha hums. “I know, darling. And you have every reason to hate HYDRA, more than some others even.”

“I know.”, he echoes her words. “It’s just, I- I miss her so much-” his voice breaks.

“Oh darling, I know, sweetheart, I know.”

He bites his lip forcefully. He won’t cry. Not now. Instead, he breathes in the rich aroma of the tea.

“Did you make her tea?” Nat’s warm and comforting voice asks through the phone. She understands. God bless, she _understands._

“I- Yeah.” Steve whispers.

Peggy – his belated wife – loved this tea. She always drank it. In the morning, at work, if she needed to calm down or just to relax. Her hair always smelt like it, too… like her and freshly brewed tea. This tea. Her favourite.

And it calms him now, too. At least a little.

Like she was still here.

Luckily he has friends who still look out for him, even now. Speaking of.

“And why are you awake, Nat?”, he wants to know. He is well aware how obvious his change of topic is, despite his real interest in the answer to that question. Natasha knows it, too, but lets it slide.

“Oh, I wait for one of my informants intel.”

“Anything new?” Steve inquires. He heavily suspects she also had a hunch that he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, after all that happened, and called him to get him out of his own mind. What would he do without this woman?

“Nothing really major. Although there is an interesting bit about a drunk asshole at a bar in Jersey. When a woman rejected his attention he kind of blew up and screamed shit about how she’ll regret it and that he’s a powerful man and will rule over her after the _Ragnarock_.”

“The what?”

“It’s along the lines of ‘The World’s End’ and ‘The Final Judgement’.”

“Dramatic much?”

“Yeah.” She chuckles. “Aren’t they always?”

Steve hums. There is a muffled ringing sound on Natasha’s end.

“Looks like there’s my intel. Gotta go, Steve.”

With a small smile on his lips he wishes her a good night.

“Go back to bed, Rogers. And drink the tea. No need to waste it. Imagine her reaction.”

That coaxes a small chuckle out of Steve. “Oh my God. She’d skin me alive with the tea spoon.”

“That she would.” Natasha affirms, smile audible in her voice. “Bye, Steve.”

“See you far too soon today, Nat.”, he half jokes.

“Asshole.” And before he is able to snark back she hangs up.

Steve gives the phone in his hand a fond smile and puts it back in its original place. Then he turns towards his tea. By now it’s not scalding hot anymore so he takes it in his hand.

“Cheers, Pegs.” he mutters and lifts the cup to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Please comment!
> 
> Also: How do you think this will continue? I'd love to hear your opinion. And I love to work with it! :)
> 
> See you in Chapter 1.  
> Get to know Steve and the crew!


End file.
